The Tower of Joy
by MysteryKnight91
Summary: 'They came together in a rush of steel and shadow' - An account of the haunting battle at the end of Robert's rebellion, Eddard's perspective.


_This is a chapter I created concerning the fight between Eddard's men, and the three members of the Kingsguard at the Tower of Joy. It is mentioned in A Game of Thrones several times, and I felt like creating a story concerning Robert's rebellion, so this would be one of the chapters. Most likely the final chapter. I understand part of the conversation in this chapter between Eddard and the Kingsguard is from A Game of Thrones and is George's work and I do not intend to make money off this chapter or any others I write and that the world of A Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R.R. Martin._

EDDARD

On the sixth day since riding from Storm's End they caught their first glimpse of the tower, peering over the horizon the white parapet seemed afire in the Dornish sun. Ned spurred his horse on as it galloped furiously toward the setting sun, _Lyanna_. His companions were left with no choice but to follow the plumes of dust left behind. The Tower of Joy rose up before them, though small compared to Winterfell's Library tower, perhaps 100 feet in all, it didn't lack for splendor as the sun set behind it, its last rays reflecting faithfully off the clear white stone. The two banners atop the roundtower remained lifeless with a lack of wind to wake them from their sleep; the three-headed dragon and the speared Sun of Dorne side by side.

Primarily used as a watchtower the Tower of Joy overlooked Prince's Pass, with the Dornish mountains in the distance; though in the days of Maegor the cruel it had been used as a prison for noblemen, far from any villages or towns and surrounded by the stark Dornish desert it made an ideal location. Eddard dismounted as Howland Reed strode up beside him, his hand clasping Ned's shoulder as he gave him a nod and drew his sword, _Poison_; the blade was thin and long matching Howard's lean figure, it shimmered a pale green as the sun dipped below the horizon. Forged from Valyrian steel it was House Reed's most prized possession, an emerald set in its hilt.

Lord Dustin reigned up beside them dismounting his stallion, the pale horse glowed red in the Dornish desert.

'Lets end this,' his voice a harsh rasping sound where Howland's was soft and almost timid, his fiery eyes were fixed upon the base of the roundtower; glowing red and matching his stallion .

Eddard could see them even from this distance, three golden statues stood beneath the tower, their armour shining with white cloaks draped over their shoulders. One of them kneeled over a whetstone, a black bat upon his head, _Ser Oswell Whent - The Knight of Black and White_; another had a smile on his lips though it spoke sadness instead, the golden hilt of a greatsword potruded from his shoulder, _Ser Arthur Dayne - The Sword of the Morning_ and the one in the middle stood there impassive, a towering menace, _Ser Gerold Hightower - The White Bull_.

'EDDARD!' his sister screamed from inside the tower and birds erupted from the windows in a cacophony of noise that created a haunting silence when it died down.

"Let her go, the war is over, swear fealty" he called to them. The three statues came to life and walked towards them, their armour and mail rustling beneath their weight, a golden crown set upon each of their breastplates. They stood their in front of Ned and his men, defiant and proud.

"No, we swore a vow to our prince," Ser Oswell replied, implacable.

"He is dead, you have a new prince, and king," Howard told them.

"No, never," The White Bull's voice emnated fury as he drew his sword from its scabbard inlaid with a golden huntsman, Eddard's men drew theirs in answer and moved forward, six wraiths. He held out a hand to slow them,

'I looked for you on the Trident,' he told them.

'We were not there,' Ser Gerold answered.

'Woe to the Usurper if we had been,' said Ser Oswell.

'When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were.'

'Far away,' Ser Gerold said, 'or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells.' His voice was as cold as ice.

'I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege," Ned told them, "and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them.'

'Our knees do not bend easily,' said Ser Arthur Dayne.

'Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him.'

'Ser Willem is a good man and true,' said Ser Oswell.

'But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee.'

'Then or now,' said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.

'We swore a vow,' explained old Ser Gerold.

Ned's wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three.

'And now it begins,' said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

"No," Ned said with sadness in his voice. 'Now it ends.'

Martyn sprang out from behind Eddard with such pace it took the three members of the kingguard back, he thrust his sword straight for Ser Gerold's chest, but despite his age Ser Gerold's reflexes still remained intact and before Martyn's sword could strike his golden plate Ser Gerold knocked the sword aside and plunged a mail gauntlet straight into his chest, without armour the blow dropped him to his knees and the Lord Commander's sword swept Martyn Cassel's head from his shoulders in a spray of crimson.

"Fool" Ser Arthur Dayne muttered as the remainder of his body fell lifelessly to the floor, Lyanna screamed again as Ned unsheathed Ice. Howland Reed and Theo Wull struck at the Sword of the Morning side by side. Ethan Glover and Lord Dustin, battleaxe in hand, moved on Ser Gerold and Ned and Ser Mark Ryswell moved toward Ser Oswell as he placed the black bat of House Whent upon his head. Both Ned's and Mark's swords swung for The Knight of Black and White in unison, Ser Oswell parried Ice and stepped aside to avoid Ser Mark's sword. Except for the clash of steel they danced in silence, Lyanna's screams had died out as they fought, whether in truth or due to his concentration Ned could not tell. The three Knights of the Kingsguard held their own against their two assailants. Ser Gerold had forced his attackers back, parrying Lord Dustin's hefty swipes from his battleaxe with ease. The Old Bull towered over them, even Lord Dustin who claimed to have giants blood seemed to shrink in the Old Knight's fearsome presence.

They seemed to fight for hours, the light draining as the sun dissapeared from the world. Ned noticed his companion tiring, his movement slowing. Trying to offer him respite Ned launched into another attack. In that moment Ser Oswell seemed to notice something, perhaps it was the relief in Mark's eye, stepping aside to avoid Ned's blow Ser Oswell feigned a lunge to the right of Ned's companion then spun around in an impressive display of agility and slashed right through his chainmail almost taking his left arm off. Blood spewed from the gaping wound as Ned stepped in front to protect his wounded comrade but the Knight shouldered him aside thrusting his sword straight through Ser Mark's chest and removing it before Ned could regain his balance, blood streamed over the black horse embroidered upon his chest. He saw Ethan Glover steal a mournful glance at his fallen friend, a tear streaking down his cheek, the emotion cost him his life as the White Bull seemed to cut him in half, kicking his limp body aside a savage smile played across his lips. Lyanna shrieked and fury drove Ned against Ser Oswell, he lunged left, slashed right, and drove Ice straight at his chest; the dismay showed upon the Knight's face as he stepped back just in time. Without letting up Ned swung the greatsword over his head and struck home, cleaving the Knight's helm in two as if it were made of soft fabric, the black bat of House Whent fell apart and the Knight of Black and White's body wept crimson tears.

Ser Arthur cursed as his brother fell to the floor, driving off Howland Reed, the Crannogman's blade a blur in the corner of Ned's eye. Not sparing a second Eddard struck at the White Bull, who seemed to pay him no heed as he ducked, letting Ice part the air above his head; the Lord Commander stepped back and they fell into the familiar routine of swordplay. Lord Dustin's battleaxe had made several dents in the Knight's polished armour but drawn no blood. In return Ser Gerold had a left a deep gash across William's cheek, crusted in blood.

The wind picked up, just a breeze, but enough to drive a red mist of Dornish sand into them, impairing his vision; Howland Reed cried out and Ned heard Theo Wull's sword clatter to the ground followed by his body as it hit the floor with a thump. Lord Dustin's battleaxe appeared in Ned's vision as he shielded his eyes, sand swirling about him, the White Bull deflected it with a meagre parry and Ned struck, his sword darting out like a viper, piercing Ser Gerold's armour and embedding itself below his ribs. The Old Knight stumbled backwards, barely visible in the sandstorm, Lord Ryswell stepped forward battleaxe in both hands poised to swing. The Old Bull roared and charged him, Ice in his hands and painted with his blood as he skewered Lord Dustin through the heart and knocked him to the ground, the Lord Commander landed on top of him and neither of them got up as they lay there motionless.

The storm of sand had subsided and Ned saw devastation; his fallen friends and fallen foes alike, crows circling them: Loyal and wise Martyn Cassel; Ser Mark Ryswell, timid and fair; Ethan Glover, witty and capricious; Theo Wull, stern and strong; Lord William Dustin, fierce and powerful; in shock Ned saw Howland Reed writhing in the sand, blood pouring from the side of his head. Ned looked up and saw Ser Arthur Dayne striding toward him, the only other man intact; Dawn was in his hands, alive as the steel rippled throught it. Ned withdrew Ice from Lord Dustin's body and stabbed at the Sword of the Morning, '_the finest knight I ever saw'_, his fathers words rang true as Dawn met Ice in a flurry of slashes, cutting closer to Eddard's head every time. He swung for the Knight, greatsword in both hands, and Ser Arthur met it with a blow so strong it wrested Ice from his hand. The knight stepped towards him, kicking Ice aside as he seemed to grow taller,

'I truly am sorry' a look of sadness stretched across his face as he held Dawn in both hands, looking into its depths with pale blue eyes, trying to find solace.

'Forgive me Robert' Eddard heard himself say as Lyanna screamed. Everything seemed to become a grey blur as he waited, Ser Arthur a pale white figure matching his glowing sword, Ned bowed his head and accepted death; waiting for its relief. It never came. He saw a blur of green and the white shadow fell to the ground, Poison erupting from its chest, Ser Arthur Dayne looked at Ned clutching Dawn,

'Return it,' he whispered, Ned nodded in solemnity as the Sword of the Morning died cradling his sword. Ned rose, colour slowly restoring itself as death gave up its hold on Ned.

They stood in silence, _they died for me, for my cause_, the thought ran through Ned's head over and over as he stared at the dead. He vowed never to forget their faces.

'They should have died on the Trident with their prince, a fairer death,' Ned spoke aloud, looking at the fallen brothers of the Kingsguard, finally breaking the silence. Howland Reed nodded, clutching the half of his ear that remained. Ned prayed a silent prayer for his friends and foes alike, the Crannogman seemed to be doing the same as he kneeled over the body of Theo Wull, head bowed. Lyanna cried out again,

'Go to her Ned, now,' Ned ran towards the tower. The outside door was heavy, Ned pushed his weight against it as the oak groaned to let him through, opening into a small room. Paintings and tapestries adorned the pristine walls, depicting scenes of Dornish history; the largest painting hung in the corner, Nymeria and her ten thousand ships displayed in an array of colours. Ned moved up a stairway to the left, he took two steps at a time as it spiralled round the outside of the tower, torches flickering in sconces within the walls. The staircase opened into an expansive airy room, then he saw her.

She lay there in a pool of blood, growing deeper every second as blood ran down her pale thighs. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at him, a slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips when she saw him, only to be replaced by sadness moments later,

'Promise me,' she spoke in anguish. He knelt beside her, blood soaking through his breeches, 'Promise what?' he answered, brushing away a stray black hair clinging to her cheek. She drew her cloack aside to reveal a baby boy, fragile and innocent wound in black cloth matching the few wisps of hair upon his head, his eyes tightly shut. 'No one can know Ned... ice and fire... protect him...' she choked on her words, her voice becoming a faint whisper,

'Promise me, Ned,' she looked at him her eyes full of fear, misted by a veil of water.

'I promise,' he whispered,

'Lya, I promise,' taking the bundle in his arms, it weighed no more than the cloth it was wrapped in. She almost seemed to smile in that moment, the fear in her eyes receding.

'Father, brother... bury me with them,' she requested, he nodded solemly.

'I loved him,' she muttered, clinging to her last few moments; his name formed on her lips but before she could say it death embraced her.

Grief overtook Ned as he lay there clutching his sister's body, the baby lay next to him; the fine black cloth had a blue winter rose embroidered upon it.


End file.
